


i see you, see you every time

by starblessed



Category: Ready or Not (2019)
Genre: Character Study, Dancing, F/M, Post-Canon, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Retrospective, Wedding Night
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-16
Updated: 2020-04-16
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:20:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23686822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starblessed/pseuds/starblessed
Summary: By the time the big day comes, Grace is sure she has her brother-in-law all figured out.He’s a spoiled rich asshole.He always looks like he knows something nobody else does, and is too amused by his own higher ground to clue anyone else in. It should be infuriating. It is infuriating, actually, but whenever her brother-to-be’s brows arch like he’s bored by the secrets of the universe, Grace finds herself grinning back. Out of defiance, she tells herself. Sarcastic bastards have never been her style.(Daniel Le Domas, with his whiskey breath and artfully disheveled hair, his rumpled suit jackets and dancing eyes, definitelyis.)
Relationships: Daniel Le Domas/Grace Le Domas
Comments: 11
Kudos: 162





	i see you, see you every time

**Author's Note:**

> i just wanted a fun movie to watch during quarantine, i didn't expect to tumble head over heels into a new ship

Daniel teases her with his dark eyes, peeling her apart later by later until she is laid bare in front of him. Grace has waitressed in back alley bars --- places the illustrious Le Domas clan could ever dreamed of. She’s used to men undressing her with their eyes. Not like this, though. Not the way her fiancé’s brother looks at her, gaze needle-sharp and intelligent, despite the liquor on his breath.

At noon on a Tuesday. Great goddamn sign there.

If she’s judging Daniel, he’s judging her just as much. They weigh each other in the space of a breath, in the seconds it takes Alex to needlessly introduce them. Grace has heard all about Daniel long before this; she figures — or hopes — that Alex has talked her up to his brother with half as much enthusiasm. Alex adores Daniel. That couldn’t be more obvious. It's the _only_ reason she forces herself to look past the blatant alcoholism, the smirk on his well-formed lips, and the way he leaves her feeling… read, somehow. Like a book cracked open, and shoved to the side when it didn’t prove interesting enough.

 _For Alex,_ she tells herself. The bright smile on her face feels forced, as does her chirpy greeting. Grace doesn’t _chirp._ Maybe it’s just nerves, or maybe she hates the guy already. Maybe he hates her.

Either way, Daniel takes her hand and kisses it — like a fucking country club Lothario. In between them both, Alex laughs a little too loud. Grace arches her eyebrows, and Daniel smirks back, like they know each other already.

“I thought Alex was bragging about you too much.” His voice is smooth, almost bored, though there’s a hint of playfulness in it. “Turns out he couldn’t say enough.”

“Really?” Somewhere deep down, she is thrilled. “How about that. Feels like we’re family already.”

Alex’s hand finds hers, like her ring is a magnet drawing them together. When he raises their clasped hands, Grace’s diamond catches in the sun. Daniel’s eyes glance over it and quickly flicker away. His face _bleeds,_ good humor leeching out in a slow trickle. _There it is,_ Grace thinks.

Two minutes in, and his mind's made up already. She’s not good enough to wear a ring more expensive than her entire community college tuition. She's not good enough to stand here, being introduced to a man who wouldn’t give her the time of day under any other circumstance. She’s not good enough to marry into the illustrious Le Domas dynasty.

Which… okay, she knows they’re from completely different universes, but he doesn’t have to look like _that._

Her smile turns defiant. Grace spins on her heel, catches Alex by the shoulder, and presses a kiss to her cheek. Alex, as always, is too happy to let her. This is a relief. She’d worried he would change in front of his brother, become someone she doesn’t recognize… but when his body shifts towards her, his face turning to capture her lips with his own, their rhythm is familiar as breathing. The same Alex. _Her_ Alex.

At least for tonight, she’s got his heart... and all of big brother Daniel’s disapproval can’t take that away.

They separate after a few seconds, because they’re not _that_ kind of gross couple. When they pull away, Grace's grin hasn't slipped. Daniel is still staring at her, with that inscrutable look in his dark eyes.

She couldn’t find the meaning behind them if she tried, and he doesn’t give her the time to. His hand finds Alex’s shoulder, an enthusiastic clasp. “Way to go, little brother!" Just like that, he's turned away, and she falls to the bottom of his priority list. "Now, you swore this place has the best sours this corner of the East Coast — I’ll be the judge of that.”

Grace digs her bitten nails into her palms, braces herself for an absolute disaster, and follows them into the restaurant.

It actually goes better than she dared hope for. Better than she had any right to expect, really. They leave with Alex’s hand on her waist as she leans into his side; his lips press against her temple as he mutters, “See? I told you he’d love you.”

 _Love me._ The words ring in Grace’s ears as Daniel turns halfway to his chauffeured car, raising a hand to wave them off. His gait is steady, but his eyes are too bright, and _too much_ when they land on her.

“Until next time, soon-to-be sister.”

Grace hates herself a little for how warm the words make her feel.

* * *

By the time the big day comes, Grace is sure she has her brother-in-law all figured out.

He’s a spoiled rich asshole.

There’s more than that in Daniel, of course. More than the shameless love affair with scotch, the lifeless marriage, the constant flirting. More than the dress shirts that always fit him a bit too well, more than the restless fingers drumming against his thighs whenever he has to sit still for a moment. On the surface, Daniel’s doesn’t care about anything. Deep down, Grace is ninety-six percent certain he does care. Too deeply. On the “could seriously use some therapy” level of caring.

He always looks like he knows something nobody else does, too amused by his own higher ground to clue anyone else in. It should be infuriating. It _is_ infuriating, actually... but whenever her brother-to-be’s brows arch like he’s bored by the secrets of the universe, Grace finds herself grinning back. Out of defiance, she tells herself. Sarcastic bastards have never been her style.

(Daniel Le Domas, with his whiskey breath and artfully disheveled hair, his rumpled suit jackets and dancing eyes, definitely _is.)_

Bottom line, though: he’s a rich asshole. Grace’s got nothing against him, but she wouldn’t choose to get to know Daniel better.

Alex is always there, no matter what. He’s a buffer between them — one Grace is grateful for, because left alone for too long she’d inevitably snap and demand to know what Daniel’s problem was. Whenever she and Daniel cross paths, Alex is their common denominator. He’s the one Daniel’s really there to see… which is just fine with Grace. They don’t look much alike, she can’t help noticing when the two brothers stand side-by-side. They aren’t much alike at all. Alex is handsome in his own way, clean cut and polished. He’s meticulous about his appearance, never leaving their shared apartment until satisfied — like he’ll get ticketed on the street for having a button out of place. Daniel, on the other hand, tries to look like he doesn’t give a shit. His default state is “no, I _have not_ met a razor this week”; all rumpled hair and designer clothes, a combination that shouldn’t be allowed to exist. Something about him always looks run-down too, like the simple business of existing drains him. It’s way more noticeable during the ceremony, flanked by his wife and surrounded by the rest of his family. The only time light comes back into his eyes is when he’s with Alex. Around his brother, Daniel comes to life.

It’s kind of nice to watch… even if, Grace can’t help noting with a twinge of unease, Alex never smiles quite so warmly at her.

That’s normal, right? It’s got to be. Families… know each other in ways no one else can — even the person you’re marrying. Siblings have their own relationships. No one can imitate it. No one can rival it. Whatever Daniel and Alex have, whatever sides of each other they know which aren’t apparent to her… it’s not her place to butt in.

Alex definitely doesn’t slip his hand up _his brother’s_ dress under the table during brunch with the florist, so… she’ll take what she’s got.

* * *

He dances with her after the wedding, stealing her away from an awkward conversation with Alex’s father. If you could call it a conversation — Tony hates her, she knows it, and he doesn’t bother trying to pretend otherwise. When a firm hand locks around her arm, spinning her out onto the floor, Grace could almost laugh with relief.

“Sorry to interrupt,” Daniel says, his voice low and eyes alive with that same teasing glint. The scotch on his breath is overwhelming, but Grace doesn’t flinch. “You two were really hitting it off…”

“You just saved my life,” Grace declares.

There’s a flash, a flinch, something she can’t comprehend. It’s a second-long slip, but she spots it, because _damn him,_ Daniel uses the same tricks at hiding his emotions as Alex does, and Grace has learned to spot those by now. (Most of them.) His gaze darts down, stubbled chin lowering. For a second, she thinks he’s just avoiding her gaze, then realizes he’s staring at her boobs. An dagger-heeled foot finds his toes, and Daniel hisses.

“Save my _shoes,_ christ, these are patent leather.”

“Oh, wow. You should have mentioned.” She steps back, off of the shoe, and away from him too… but Daniel’s grip on her waist is unexpectedly firm, holding her steady.

“You don’t know what you’ve gotten yourself into,” he states, an established fact. For the fiftieth time tonight — and _why does her new fucking family have a talent for this_ — Grace is left feeling like the outsider. Small, and helpless, and stupid for being here in the first place.

“Yeah, okay.” There’s no humor in her chuckle, nor in the fingernails which dig into Daniel’s forearm when he still refuses to let go. “Haven’t you said your piece tonight?”

He shrugs, and makes the movement look too casual. “We’ll see.” For a moment, Daniel’s gaze holds her, and Grace feels laid bare all over again. “We’ll see,” he echoes, and his hold loosens.

_Three, two, one… release._

Only when she’s stepped off the floor, and Daniel is safely on the other side of the room, do her lungs remember how to breathe again.

* * *

Needless to say, in retrospect, that short dance makes a hell of a lot more sense.

Every time her brain returns to the memory, every time it can bear it, a constant litany of _fuck, fuck, fuck,_ drowns out whatever she may have thought in the moment. If she’d only listened… if she’d been a little smarter… if Daniel had been more _explicit,_ the bastard…

She’s torn. It’s easy to hate the entire Le Domas family for what they did to her; it’s easy to hate Alex, for everything; but Daniel, Daniel is the one she can’t force herself to hate at all. He tried to warn her, and every time she remembers it she feels ready to vomit. Damn her if she knows what’s worse — the memory of his hand tight on her waist, urging her to stay and go all at once, or of the blood bubbling out his mouth, strangling his dying breaths.

No one else tried to warn her, but Daniel did. No one else gave a shit, but Daniel did.

He was better than Alex, better than his entire fucked up family. He deserved better than a two-minute dance and a bullet in the throat.

“God, fuck it,” she mutters, pouring herself another shot in the privacy of her apartment — the new one she bought, with the obscene Domas family inheritance, just to never have to return to her and Alex’s old place again. The liquor burns heading down her throat. Scotch — Daniel’s favorite.

When she’s sober, she can’t stop thinking about it… so Grace tries not to be sober. At least then the ghosts take different forms, and the nightmares feel a little less real.

Drinking doesn’t stop her from thinking, though. It sure as shit doesn’t stop the memories.

In her mind, she relives that night over and over again, perpetual hell on an unrelenting loop. Her therapist says this is normal (he didn’t go so far as _healthy)._ Grace grits her teeth and grinds out curses at the unfairness of it all, caught up in the memory of bonds too tight around her wrists, or the phantom ache in her breast where Alex's blade cut clean through. She remembers everything in detail, and that’s her problem.

At some point, she remembers more. If Grace is honest with herself, she’s not sure when her interactions with Daniel that night begin to swell in her mind, building and bloating into more than they were. She’s not an idiot; it’s twelve kinds of fucked up to be fantasizing about a dead guy. That’s her life at the moment, though. Remembering the heat of her husband’s entrails splattering all over her is just a Tuesday for Grace; remembering the way Daniel’s throat bobbed when he averted his gaze in the study, or the tender pity in his eyes as he held a rifle to her chest, is something else. Maybe just as fucked, but on a different scale. She’d prefer the entrails.

There were moments when Daniel seemed so close to her — moments when they stood side by side, and it felt like she knew him better than her own fiancé. Now, she knows exactly why: Alex was always wearing masks around her. Daniel never bothered, for anyone. Those smiles that sat strangely in her stomach, the ones she didn’t recognize on Alex’s face… those were the only times he could truly be himself. Around Daniel. The person who really saw him for what he was.

And Daniel died still thinking his little brother was a good person. That Alex was the hero, the one with a heart... the one who’d burn them all down in the end. That’s the really fucked up part.

Grace knows Daniel in death better than he ever knew himself.

* * *

“Well. That’s a little presumptuous.”

“Ah, shit,” she blurts out — because this isn’t the first time she’s dreamed about them all, but the dreams with Daniel in them always hurt the worst. They lure her in, like a honey trap, before going dark so quickly. She’s seen a hole appear in his neck in the middle of a conversation, seen him double over with crimson on his lips and blame in his eyes. She’s felt his hand glance over her shoulder… and tighten, _tighten,_ his eyes going hard and steely the same way Alex’s had that day. Being betrayed by Daniel — even in her dreams — well, it doesn’t hurt more than losing Alex, but it hits in a different way. A gunshot and a stab wound are wildly different types of pain, but they both hurt like a bitch.

This memory is one her nightmares hadn’t managed to infect yet. Grace would really like to keep it that way.

Faceless couples whirl around them, blurs of muted color and too-fluid movement. The music is lower than she can really hear, like somebody humming in the background. The collar of her wedding dress itches. Grace can feel eyes on her, hundreds of eyes, but can’t make out who they belong to.

Daniel’s grip is the only thing strapping her into the dream, as though without it she’d simply float away. That’d be better than this. She takes a step back, tugging against his hold. The grip on her waist slips, like he wasn’t expecting it, but his hand in hers stays firm. A second later, their joined hands tighten, and he reaches out to her again.

“Don’t go, Grace. Dance.”

“I’m dreaming,” she reminds herself, voice tight.

Daniel doesn’t even flinch. “Yeah, you are.”

“You’re not really here.” She pauses to breathe, and to consider the weight of his hand against hers. The heat of his body bleeds into her skin. She is close enough to make out the texture of his eyelashes — hell, count them, even — and it all looks painfully real. If she let herself, she could believe it.

“Don’t run away."

She goes still.

“Well, I didn’t mean — come on, move _a little._ We’re dancing. You have to —“

He gives her a light tug; reluctantly, Grace falls into step with him, brows kitting at how easy it is. She’s never been much of a dancer, even in sleazy clubs pressing up against strangers. Ballroom dancing is as foreign to her as the rest of the billionaire class’s world… but Daniel doesn’t mind now, just like he didn’t mind then.

That night. Months, weeks, seconds ago. That _fucking night._

“I keep dreaming about it,” she admits, voice nearly drowned out by the music. Somehow, it feels alright to confess it to him. Daniel’s not her damn therapist, but he was there. He gets it. Even if she can’t meet his eyes, she also can’t bring herself to stop once she’s begun. “That night, the — the ritual, and the woods, and the fucking goat pit… I still see it all, every time I close my eyes. I… made it ‘til dawn, i made it out, but…” She swallows hard. “I’m not sure I survived.”

Daniel is quiet for a long moment — and every second falls against her skin like acid, searing her even as she glowers into his chest — before he exhales hard. His breath warms her jaw.

“I sense some irony here.”

Her gaze darts up, startled. Suddenly she feels like an idiot. Maybe it’s not much of a life, but she still made it out _alive._ Daniel died that night, and his body burned to ashes. There’s not enough of him left to even mourn.

For a long moment, they just stare at each other, locked in each others’ holds and gazes. He doesn’t look broken up about the whole being dead thing. At least, Grace is pretty sure that’s not why his brows are drawn together, jaw set like he wants to say something and can’t find the words. Whatever he reads in her face, it can’t put his mind at any more ease than hers. Grace’s hand tightens in his own — a short, determined squeeze.

Daniel pulls back just enough to regard her with dark eyes. He’s sober, she realizes with a jolt — maybe the first time she’s ever seen him without liquor on his breath. “I’m sorry, Grace. Really.” A pause, a swallow. There’s not an ounce of bullshit in his voice. “It might not be worth much now, but you deserve to hear it.”

“I _deserved_ not to be hunted down like an animal.”

“Not the wedding night of your dreams, huh?” He has the nerve to scoff. She ought to shove him away... but Daniel’s gaze remains steady, his voice softening in the next second. “I’m sorry,” he says again, and means it.

It helps, somehow, that he looks much more uneasy as she feels. This isn’t one of her nightmares… just a dream. This is _her dream,_ and Daniel Le Domas is only visiting for the night. If Grace wants to banish him, she can.

And she will. In a minute.

“Apology not accepted,” she decides, relaxing back into his hold.

Daniel’s hand hovers over her waist for a moment before settling, the firm weight a reassurance that he is still there — still tangible, still more memory than ghost. Grace’s own hand traces up his arm, headed towards his shoulder. He tracks the movement, and at the last second, before her hand can reach his collar… she spins out.

Daniel’s hand catches her before she can reel away entirely; arms outstretched, clasping each other at the wrists, they move in a natural circle. His gaze holds hers steady, dark eyes shouldering hotter than the Le Domas estate in flames. They walk a full ring around each other, the music carrying them, before Grace seizes his wrist and uses it to spin herself back in. Daniel catches her naturally against him, like he’d been expecting her all along. Her arms cross over her chest, while his caress her. His touch teases her shoulders, her arms, stopping just at her collar. Grace suddenly wishes her wedding dress had a lot less lace.

The moment it threatens to become overwhelming, she spins herself again. He catches her, both hands on her waist now, and she is forced to move where he leads. Their feet step around each other without faltering; what should be a hopscotch game feels easy as breathing. She knows exactly what he will do the second before he does it. She knows when his hand moves down, just a bit lower than her hip. She knows when he pulls her against his chest, the stubble of his cheek grazing her temple. When he exhales against her ear, ruffling the rogue loose hairs there, she knows it’s coming, but can’t help shuddering.

“You’re not really here,” she whispers again. It’s the same technique she’s learned to use for all the nightmares — reminding herself what’s real and what isn’t. Daniel’s heart hammers against her breast; she feels the rise of his chest as he breathes in, and the heat when it rushes out.

“I know,” he says.

When he sweeps her into a dip, she doesn’t fight it. One arm twines around his neck, while her free hand locks onto his shoulder. Quickly it travels, finding his jaw and caressing it like a precious thing. His stubble is rough against her fingertips. Despite his intense gaze, he still smiles, like she’s found a sweet spot.

 _It’s your dream, Grace._ Her head is reeling. This is uncharted territory. In all the nightmares, all the imagined terrors…

Nothing like this ever crossed her mind. _God,_ she thinks, _don’t let me wake up yet._

Daniel hovers over her, close enough now that she really could count his eyelashes. His gaze holds her captive; it’s impossible to tear away. Yet he doesn’t move, doesn’t flinch, even as the violins pick up and the dancers whirl all around them.

Between one heartbeat and another, Grace hauls herself up and kisses him.

They’ve been able to anticipate each other up til now, but this time she’s outplayed him. Daniel’s breath isn’t literally taken away — or maybe he never had time to catch it, after her lips locked with his. Grace pushes herself upright, using his body as an anchor. Her arms stay twined around his neck; his hand hovers, caressing her waist like he doesn’t dare hold her, before settling upon her waist. When he opens his mouth, she pushes her way in. When he sighs against her, stubble scratching her cheeks, she can feel his heart pounding. He’s never felt so alive to her, so tangible — so _close._

When they break apart, he looks dazed. She wants to smile, but somehow can’t. The emotion won’t rise to her face; it stays locked inside her chest, a writhing, restrained animal

“I knew you better than I knew him,” she declares. “You never bothered to hide anything.”

“I’m an open book. What you see is what you get, unfortunately.”

“That’s not true, either.” Her fingertips brush his temple, smoothing away an unruly curl, and his eyes flutter at the touch. “I _know_ you, Daniel.”

It takes him a long moment to recover himself enough to speak. “You thought I was someone I wasn’t. A good person.”

“And I was right.”

“You —“ He cuts himself off, like whatever he was going to say chokes him. In the long few seconds that he stares at her, Grace feels herself grin. Finally. It feels like a lifetime since she’s smiled and meant it.

“I’m sorry it wasn’t enough,” he finally says.

“I’m sorry you died for me,” she replies.

“Would have died anyway. At least dying for you was worth something, in the end.”

 _I wish you hadn’t,_ she thinks, but these hurt too much to say. They won’t do either of them any good.

Instead, she simply says, “I don’t want to wake up.”

His expression softens. His eyes go warm, like chocolate in the summer sun. When he cups her cheek, his touch is impossibly tender.

“It’s your dream, Grace,” he reminds her. “Sooner or later, you have to.”

Every dance has to end sometime.

Daniel takes a deep breath, and spins her back out before she can anticipate it. When Grace opens her eyes, she’s staring up at her bedroom ceiling.

“Fuck,” she says aloud. When a few minutes of squeezing her eyes shut and trying to lose herself again fail, she raises both hands to her face and rubs up and down for a long moment. Maybe she can massage the memories into her brain — and form some kind of meaning out of them.

 _“Fuck,”_ she says again, remembering the way Daniel smiled at her. Oh, her therapist will get a _real_ kick out of that one.

Life after That Night seemed more like existing than really living. Why she should feel more alive in a _dream,_ of all places, than she ever has awake... is way more than she wants to psychoanalyze right now.

Why Daniel Le Domas is still haunting her, even when there’s nothing left of him but ashes, is a question for another day.


End file.
